


I wanna bleed all of the words you said

by AlexZorlok



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22216045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexZorlok/pseuds/AlexZorlok
Summary: Ben thinks about him a lot, and it shouldn't have been a surprise, really, but his Noise still didn't fail to make Cillian's breath catch, when it's all:Cillian, Cillian, Cillian, Cillian.
Relationships: Cillian Boyd/Benison Moore
Kudos: 31





	I wanna bleed all of the words you said

**Author's Note:**

> The song is "The Kitchen" by Tow'rs, I just keep tying songs to my favourite characters, okay.

_Buried our differences out in the yard  
Next to the tall grass beside the barn  
We sang songs to send them on their way  
But they found us again they found us again_

* * *

Cillian wipes his hands clean of the remainings of the fission oil, all the while staring up at the moon, as if waiting for it to start whispering as well, which he wouldn’t even put against it; when they first came here, onto this godforsaken planet, it seemed impossible to sleep at all, not when nothing and no one here ever shut up, men trying to sneak into the women’s shelters to get away from the nightmare of a snoring the Old World could never imagine, not even being able to distinguish people’s dreams from reality anymore, and further driving each other nuts; only causing more havoc by trying to escape. Cillian never wanted this, never wanted to leave, but Ben’s words had sounded so tempting back then that there was no way he was going to resist.

The promise of the New World, it was. Untouched fields they would make theirs, maybe a coupla dogs running around, freely, barking their ears off. Peace and quiet, endless blue sky above their heads. A neighborhood full of friends. Anything Cillian would need; _Ben_.

At a night like this, when the faint Noise of the sleeping town ain’t bothering him no more, when he forgot the life without it, and he can hear the sheep occasionally calling out to each other, mindlessly, when their son is sound asleep, safe and almost clean, as much as a boy his age can make himself look clean— It almost feels like he got what he wanted.

If he has to think about the guarantees, about all the things they had gotten wrong, they could never be absolutely sure there was going to be a moon so bright and welcoming in the New World, either.

He feels Ben waking up more than he hears it. The shift in his Noise says more than the more apparent things do, such as the sudden creak of a floorboard, and the following sound of steps. Cillian knows Ben’s Noise better than he knows his own; he’s never got even close to figuring himself out, but Ben? Ben’s Noise is out in the open, as much as it can be with how much they have to keep a secret between the two of them, with all the things that are buried under layers. But at moments like this one, those things ain’t so important, don’t matter at all. Cuz it’s what Ben is really made of what shows, what stays on the surface, all the gentle smiles and singing and worry. If Cillian could, he would paint Ben’s Noise blue, like the sky, or green, like their field. Free, tender, loving.

Cillian had never had to wonder what Ben was truly thinking about. He knew where they stood, back then on the ships, and prior, never doubted the love in his eyes and the meaning behind gentle touches, like his hands coming up to caress his face. It should have never been a surprise, really, but Ben’s Noise still didn’t fail to make his breath catch.

_Cillian, Cillian, Cillian, Cillian._

Ben thinks about him a lot. It’s the same in their dreams; Cillian dreams about that too, about the better times that could be, about the two of them, sometimes three, sometimes more, and when they wake up, sometimes Cillian believes the reality ain’t so bad either. Cillian’s name is muttered in Ben’s sleep a lot, but it’s when he’s awake that it’s filled with all the colours, with that hint of concern that follows him around, because if Ben was too good for the Old World to keep him grounded, he is sure as bloody hell too good for the shipwreck that Prentisstown is.

Cillian knows Ben is approaching, and he doesn’t try to silence his own Noise either.

The moon, Todd, sheep, _Ben, Ben, Ben_.

The first Ben does is sliding a blanket over his shoulders; it’s summertime, but the night are still chilly, not that Cillian cares; this thought earns him a stern look, and Cillian huffs and closes the ends of the blanket tighter around his chest. They stand like that, for awhile, Ben’s arm around his shoulders, the moon above their heads. Sheep thoughtlessly silent, and Todd Hewitt asleep in his bed.

“It’s his birthday today.” Cillian breathes, and his voice doesn’t quite break in the middle of saying that, no, but he almost whimpers afterwards, and he’s so mad at himself he tries to bite it down and only catches his own tongue in between his teeth.

Ben meets his words with a smile, shaking his head. “He sure grows up fast, our Todd.”

“He sure does...”

The boy is about to turn nine, and maybe that’s a blessing enough that the year is longer on this planet, that Todd gets to have 169 months instead of 156, and it frustrates Cillian that he even thinks about that, but he counts, and he counts, and he counts. Masking it as a countdown to harvest, or to the payday to Mayor Prentiss, eschewing of the day the men’s thoughts are gonna be filled with Todd, _his_ Todd, the boy none of those freaks should have a right to even look at.

Cillian knows when he slipped. _His_ Todd. _Their_ Todd. The boy he never knew he wanted and who certainly wasn’t a part of his hopes and dreams about the New World.

The boy he ain’t ready to ever let go.

“He ain’t going nowhere,” Ben hushes, “Not today,” he leans closer, pressing a kiss on top of his head, “Not tomorrow.”

 _Someday_ , they know.

 _Someday_ is left buried under things more important.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Ben whispers, already halfway to tugging him inside by his sleeve but stopping, waiting. Cillian frowns in annoyance, directed to no one in particular, just always there, always angry at the concept of justice. He rubs his hands together as if there was still any dirt left on them.

“He wanted a ruddy _fissionbike_. Already see a day comin when Prentiss bans these too.”

He doesn’t pull away tho, them both entering the house, and he can smell fresh butter from the kitchen, a premade cake waiting for their boy to wake up. It’s nice inside, in their wooden cabin, warm beds waiting every night, a couple of books hidden underneath it that Prentiss haven’t found out about just yet. He will, soon— no doubt about that. Ben’s still trying, tho, but he half-jokes about Cillian not jumping onto Todd’s throat when he’ll be forced away for a week or two.

What he really means to say is that he don’t go jumping onto Prentiss’ throat either, cuz Cillian’s come very close to that a coupla times, and they don’t need no trouble.

He can’t help it. Ben knows that, he does, and that’s something he loves him for, and Cillian knows that, too. Love isn’t forbidden in Prentisstown, not like it’s said so out loud, but with the way things are, it feels like it is, like there’s no light left in those who’ve become men, and maybe Prentiss thinks he’s looking for balance in Noise, for clean bright order, but what he forgets is that he already let himself get buried in the darkness of Noise, and this way he ain’t ever getting out.

Cillian isn’t the one to talk openly about love, but may he be damned if he ain’t filling his own house with it.

Ben says Todd is growing up to be a lot like him, and Cillian says that the boy is a big pain, no doubt, but he’d rather he got something from his ‘kinder’ father because maybe at least it’d teach him manners. Ben just chuckles, at that.

At moments like this, when there are no men to be worried about, Cillian feels as if the New World gave them the happiness it promised.

“E-early one mo-orning,” Ben starts, suddenly, because it’s nearing the dawn now, and they’re still standing in the kitchen, and Cillian feels a bit drunk on sleepiness but that’s a good kind because it makes him straight up grin at Ben’s silly singing voice, and then he shakes his head, but all and every attempt to brush the grin off only brings out the silent huffs of laugh. Ben takes his hands in his and waves them around, floorboards creaking slightly under their feet, and there is a rucksack hidden somewhere under them, but it don’t matter now when there are more important things to keep on the surface such as the moon giving way to the sun, and Ben’s eyes crinkling in its light.

Cillian doesn’t say ‘I love you’, but he thinks it so loudly and so earnestly that Ben would never bloody doubt that in his life.


End file.
